About the Author:

National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Bad Witch Rising:

“Jaime!” Where the hell was he? I ran for the truck. It didn’t provide much in the way of shelter, but it did have a shotgun.

I jerked the thankfully unlocked door open and grabbed the weapon from the rack behind the seat. Bullets wouldn’t kill the vampire, but I don’t think even it could walk without knees.

Or elbows.

Double-checking the load, I snapped the gun shut and scanned the field. The thrashing sounds grew fainter until only the whiff of the breeze brushing the hay remained.

Even the stench was gone.

A rustle at the edge of the field spun me in place. I braced myself, shotgun primed, and took aim.

The hay parted against black fur, dark as midnight and low to the ground.

Panther.

In Virginia?

My brain wrestled with my vision’s report. The cat was long, easily six feet of body clearing the hay before the tail flicked behind it. Squat with thick muscular legs, it prowled across the green belt.

Hands tense, I laid my finger flat against the side of the trigger. The dim light did nothing to diminish the powerful muscles rippling along the cat’s furred body. It approached low, not quite stalking.

He yowled a low, long note, revealing a row of teeth that made the vampire’s fangs look like toothpicks. Three feet away from the point I knew I’d have to take the shot, the cat paused, dropping to sit on its haunches.

Staring.

At me.

I lowered the gun a fraction.

The cat’s long tail twitched. A magnificent creature, his flat, broad features tilted upward. An oversized Romeo, though I doubt either feline would appreciate the comparison.

My palms were damp against the gun. I really didn’t want to hurt the beast. I likely owed it my thanks, because—well, it had to be what spooked the vampire.